


Comfort Food

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs visits Jack after the events of 'Schooled'. He's learning strength sometimes comes from food rather than fists. Post-'Schooled' episode filler.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 36
Kudos: 144





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> I found a spoiler site that listed the rapist's name as "Rick Martel". Couldn't find confirmation of that anywhere else, but figured I'd go with that until we find out otherwise.
> 
> The "It's a guy thing" really bothered me, because it implied he would've reacted the same way regardless of who the woman was, and while, on one hand, that may be true to the character, it's not entirely true to the relationship he has with Jack. It dismisses her experience as something that would get the same reaction he'd give to a stranger's experience, and I just don't think that's true. Also wanted to deal with the fact that I'm a little sour because there doesn't seem to be anything Leon doesn't know about her. And I get that, I do, considering their history. But it leaves little for Gibbs and Jack to share solely with each other.
> 
> The reference to Lucatelli's restaurant and Serafina are a nod to other fics both jenni3penny and I have written.
> 
> Oh, and you don't get demerit points for a broken tail light, but it's fiction, so let's go with it. :)

Despite having done enough anxiety breathing to make herself light headed and having a right hand that throbbed with every heartbeat, she had considered the day a success, when all was said and done. Except now, alone in her apartment, the adrenaline was wearing off and the reality of what she had done and what she had revealed was setting in. The apartment was quiet and lit only by the small lamp on her side table by the big easy chair she was curled up in. The blanket was brought up to her chin and her neck tilted at an awkward angle, and she wondered how pathetic it would be to go to bed at 7pm. The internal debate was interrupted by a knock at her door. 

It was a knock she knew well by its confidence and shortness, like the man on the other side expected he needed nothing more to be answered. He wasn’t wrong, though she did wonder if she was ready to face him. Knowing he wasn’t simply going to go away if she didn’t answer, she flipped the blanket back, stretched as best she could and stood. 

“Coming!” she shouted, shuffling her way towards the door. 

A slide of the lock and turn of the deadbolt later, she pasted a smile on her face and swung the door open. It was a sign of how the day had gone when he didn’t step in like he normally did, but instead waited for her to tilt her head inside. A delicious aroma trailed behind him as he made his way to her kitchen. 

“Lucatelli’s?” she asked, unable to resist following him. 

“Yep,” he replied. 

Placing the bag on the counter, he lifted another until she came over to look. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw the contents.

“How did you know I needed it?”

He reached in and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. “You don’t buy frozen vegetables. You go to the Market in Tenley every Sunday to buy fresh.”

Her eyes widened. “You remembered.”

His shrug attempted to wave off her appreciation. “You’ve been tryin’ to convince me to go for over a month.” The bag crunched under his squeezing fingers. 

She couldn’t deny the mild accusation, but shook her head. “No, I mean, how did you know I needed it for this?” She held up her injured hand, knowing it was the real reason he brought the vegetable. A soft wince escaped her lips when he cradled her hand and gently placed the bag along her bruised knuckles.

“Went for a little ride today. Checked out some high-end neighbourhoods in the area.” She immediately knew what he meant and pulled her hand away, but he held it firmly. “Nothing happened, Jack.” Seeing her raised eyebrow, he said, “You were right- wasn’t my place to stick my nose into it. This is about you, not me. Besides, I saw his face. That’s how I knew.” He held up her hand.

She saw the turmoil play its way across his face, saw the simmering anger behind his eyes. “I get it, Gibbs, I do. It’s a guy thing.” 

It was an absolvement not an accusation, but he was having none of it.

“No, Jack, it’s a ‘me’ thing.” His grin held no humour. “I don’t have much left except the people I love. And when somethin’ happens and I can’t fix it, I don’t like it.”

“It happened 30 years ago, Gibbs.”

He shook his head. “Coulda happened 30 minutes ago. Doesn’t matter. I don’t like it.”

Hearing him repeat his conviction, the second time softer than the first, nearly broke her heart. His blue eyes now rimmed with red looked everywhere but at her, and she raised her good hand to his cheek, stroking the skin until she got his attention.

“And that means more to me than you will ever know.” She punctuated her confession by giving his hair a quick tug. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t confront him; in fact, it means more to me that you didn’t.”

“I thought this wasn’t about me.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. “But maybe it’s about us. I don’t always need you to react to something; sometimes just knowing you _would_ smash his windshield, if required, is enough.” She purposely kept her tone light in the wake of touching the elephant edges of ‘us’. His eyes flickered and she narrowed hers. “You didn’t smash his windshield, did you?”

He removed the frozen bag from her knuckles and replaced it with his lips, briefly, before turning to the food on the counter. “Wanna eat?”

“Oh my God. You smashed his window.”

“Give me some credit, will ya?” he asked as he reached up for the plates. His pause was just long enough to give the correction the right amount of weight. “I smashed his brake light.” He continued on as if they were talking about the weather. “Pulled in a favour from a friend of mine at Metro. Looks like Mr. Martel is 2 points away from gettin’ his licence taken away.” The shrug filled in the rest.

The name stopped her breathing. “How did you know his name?” When he didn’t immediately reply, she grabbed his arm and turned him around. “How did you know? Did Leon tell you?” A shadow went across his face and she knew the answer; he had no idea Leon knew and the hurt flashed in his eyes before he had a chance to hide it. The grip on his arm became a caress. “I’ve known Leon a long, long time, Gibbs.

“Not my business.” 

He tried to return to dishing out the dinner, but she stopped the wall being built. “But it _is_ your business. It’s just not something I can bring up over the Army/Navy game, you know?” Her attempt at lightening the moment brought a twitch to his lips. “So how did you know?”

“That coffee fresh?”

“Yes.”

He handed her the plates and nudged her towards the table. Taking down two mugs, he said, “I may have misappropriated government resources.”

“By yourself?”

Three sugars were stirred into her coffee as he replied, “I didn’t get anyone on the team to help me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No,” she replied, nodding her appreciation of his generosity with the sugar. “I’m just surprised you could do all that computer stuff by yourself. But then I heard what you did at the crime scene.” Seeing his confusion, she added, “With the phone and the retina scan? Tim practically bounced into my office to tell me.” Her hand reached across the table for his. “I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

“Not about me,” he repeated. “You take care of you, however you gotta do that.” 

His gaze, so honest and strong, held hers until the heat became too much and she had to look down. The lasagna was a good distraction and she closed her eyes at the comfort. A thought occurred to her. “Did Serafina make you bring home tiramisu?”

He squeezed her hand before taking a drink. “Figured I could do more with cake than my fists.”

She knew he was covering up his newfound self-awareness with his coffee, but the fact he was learning that she needed his quiet strength more than his hard vengeance was enough for her not to draw attention to it. “Might need a lot of cake,” she said.

“Between the two of us, Sloane, we might wanna look into buyin’ a bakery.”

She laughed- really laughed- for the first time that day.

…..

-end


End file.
